Superman
by Lady Lylia
Summary: Gilthas asks his father for a story... Songfic, song by Five For Fighting. R/R!


I'm sitting in my study, sifting through copies of old treaties of human and elf relations. Most boring writing I've read in quite awhile, but it needs to be done. So much NEEDS to be done these days, it's impossible to do anything else.  
  
I am so immersed in my reading that I don't notice the little person creeping up on me. "Father?" Gilthas asks, tugging on my beard. It's amazing how precocious he is.  
  
I smile at him, in spite of myself. What else is there to do but smile? "Yes, Gilthas?"  
  
"Can you tell me a story?" His thin little face seems impish, his almond- shaped eyes wide. He's been sick lately, but he seems fine now. I'm glad for that.  
  
I smile back at him as I pull my son into my lap. Treaties will wait. "What kind of story?"  
  
Gilthas gives me a little grin, like he thought I'd never ask. "A story about dragons!"  
  
  
  
~I can't stand to fly  
  
I'm not that naive  
  
I'm just out to find  
  
The better part of me~  
  
  
  
I just stare at him, practically shaking. Dragons? Where in the name of the abyss did it occur to him to ask me about dragons?  
  
So many memories, rushing up at me. Flying on dragonback, fighting on foot with them high overhead. The fear of being engulfed in fire, frozen in ice, hit by lightning, scorched by acid. The terrible choking feeling when one came into sight. Seeing their bones litter the ground after a battle. I can't breathe, I can't see, I can't think. The memories immerse me, drown me. All I can do is remember it all.  
  
  
  
~I'm more than a bird.I'm more than a plane  
  
More than some pretty face beside a train  
  
It's not easy to be me~  
  
  
  
"Father?" Gilthas is staring at me, tugging on my beard, his eyes growing wider.  
  
I shake my head to clear it. "I don't want to tell a story about dragons. What would you like instead?"  
  
The child cocks his head to one side, thinking about the matter about as deeply as a small child can. "A story about the elf lands, you've never told me about them."  
  
  
  
~Wish that I could cry  
  
Fall upon my knees  
  
Find a way to lie  
  
About a home I'll never see~  
  
  
  
Another pile of buried memories. My mother's death, and how I was blamed for it all my life. The way the Speaker ignored me, Porthios taunted me, Gilthanas turned up his nose. When smiling in all innocence at a girl who looked half my age was a crime, if it was the Speaker's daughter. How I had to get away. How much pain I felt when we returned, during the war.  
  
How Laurana lost everything to be with me. How our only child is frail and sickly, cursed by his elven blood. How I can hardly look her in the eyes, when I think of how I've hurt her. How we'll never see Qualinesti again. Because of me. Because of my blood.  
  
"Father!" Gilthas's voice snaps me back to the real world again.  
  
How do you explain to a small child that he wouldn't be welcome in his own homeland? You cannot. "Perhaps another story, son?"  
  
"Well, all right." Again, my son ponders. "Can you tell me a story about the war then?"  
  
  
  
~It may sound absurd.but don't be naive  
  
Even Heroes have the right to bleed~  
  
  
  
I can still see the war when I close my eyes, the blood and the fire and the steel. The scent of metal and death. The cacaphony of battle. Every injury I've ever borne, some nearly fatal. Such violent images, much too horrible. How do you explain to a mere child the dangers of war? I shudder at the thought. Gilthas is much too delicate, too frail. I can't upset him.  
  
"Why don't I tell you a story about something else? What about the gnomes?" I always tell Gilthas stories about Mt. Nevermind, things I heard from Tas after the war ended. Nice stories, safe stories. Humorous little anecdotes about the people who spend their lives causing explosions. They make much better stories than dragons do...  
  
  
  
~I may be disturbed.but won't you concede  
  
Even Heroes have the right to dream  
  
It's not easy to be me ~  
  
  
  
I expect a laugh after that story, but Gilthas is yawning instead, curled up in a ball in my lap. I sigh softly as I pick my son up in my arms. "Time for bed, I think." He just nods, his eyes already shut. I carry him into his room, tuck him in under the covers.  
  
I start to leave, to blow out the candle in his room, but I hear his voice, hesitant and soft. "Father?"  
  
"Yes, Gilthas?"  
  
He is calm, quiet, but his words cut through the air. "Will the war come back?"  
  
"No, son. Of course not."  
  
I manage to leave the room before the tears start to flow.  
  
  
  
~Up, up and away.  
  
away from me, It's all right.  
  
You can all sleep sound tonight  
  
I'm not crazy.or anything.~  
  
  
  
Gods, what am I doing? Is Gilthas really so sensitive as that? Mendacity does him no good. It's not his weakness... it's mine. My indignity, my shame. My follies and faults, borne upon a mere child.  
  
Maybe it's time to be honest with the boy. Yes, it's best if I tell him. Then he might just avoid the pitfalls of his father. I open Gilthas's door a crack. I'm about to barge in, to explain everything.  
  
But he's sleeping. Silently, peacefully, his golden hair gleaming softly in Solinari's light. So young, he looks so young.  
  
  
  
~I can't stand to fly  
  
I'm not that naive  
  
Men weren't meant to ride  
  
With clouds between their knees~  
  
  
  
I can't wake him. It's late, he needs his rest. Gilthas has been sick lately, and he's still frail. I doubt I'd be able to explain, even if I woke him up. He's so young, he couldn't understand. How do you tell someone about fear, about death, about battle? There's no way to make Gilthas understand.  
  
Laurana and I want to shield him from that. We don't want to raise our son amidst the entropies of war. What kind of parents would we be if Gilthas was raised to know hatred?  
  
  
  
~I'm only a man in a silly red sheet  
  
Digging for kryptonite on this one way street  
  
Only a man in a funny red sheet  
  
Looking for special things inside of me, inside of me, inside of me~  
  
  
  
I repeat those words over and over to myself. Over and over again, until the words lose their meanings, become empty syllables. Lot of good it did me, I think when I finish. I still hear the hollow ring of my arguments. It's not because I don't want Gilthas to know, it's because I wish I didn't know. But wishes won't save me now. Wishes won't save Gilthas, if the time ever comes when he needs to make them. Even so, I find myself wishing. I suppose there's nothing wrong with trying to wish the war away.  
  
  
  
~It's not easy to be me~ 


End file.
